#ANNNNGGGSSSTTTT
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The Ballad of the Shadowsinger
Azriel x Reader Oneshot
“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”
Warnings: ANGST with a happy ending, mentions of attempted SA and suicidal ideation (they're very brief, but please do read with caution)
Author's note: I finished this at 3am last night and I think it's pretty apparent... buuuuuut I'm going to post it anyway. Enjoy...
The Shadowsinger arrived one winter night, curling into existence on the border of town like cream through coffee. Jadhan was only a boy at the time - painfully human with a broken leg that had never healed properly. The Midlands were a terrible place for a child to grow up - a place where the only thing more unstable than the ground was its sense of safety.
But things changed when the Shadowsinger arrived, bringing with him gold and the brutal violence required to scare off the bandits and murders that slipped in from the nearby Lordship. And when the Lord came for the Shadowsinger’s head, it was the fae male was the one who walked away from the fight. Except it wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.
Jadhan was thirty-seven now with three young boys that had come in a cluster, forcing their way into the world one after another. Sasha had never been quite pleased with him for that, but her love for her sons and her husband outweighed the pain and hardship in the end.
The boys - Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik - ran around the tavern, ducking beneath tables and barstools while their height still allowed it. The Shadowsinger watched them with the faintest of smiles as they clambered about, begging for more attention from his shadows.
There was little known about the Shadowsinger this deep into the Continent, but whispers still passed through the mouths of travelers at the inn. The most common piece of gossip was that he was a Prythian outlaw - banished to the Continent after attempting to kill his Lord. Jadhan didn’t know - and he figured he would never find out.
The Shadowsinger was so quiet that no one even knew his real name. They all called him Shadowsinger - Shadow for short. He disappeared into the woods at night and stalked into town come morning, but give a shout at any time and he would be there, flying overhead like a black stormcloud.
“On the house, Shadow.” Jadhan said, dropping the glass onto the sticky counter. Whisky neat, two fingers - just the way he liked it.
The Shadowsinger picked it up, swirling the amber liquid around like he hoped it would start talking to him, “You say that every night.”
“That’s because a free drink is the least I could get you.” Jadhan tipped his head towards the rickety stage where the local songbirds were setting up. The singer, Phaedra, had her eyes on Shadow, sending love and gratitude his way like a flood, “Phaedra’s been telling everyone what you did for her. You know, with the Morois boy.”
Shadow grimaced, taking his first sip. He grimaced again. The whiskey was home-brewed and tasted like it. Everyone in town said a shot of the stuff could kill a man, but Shadow was hardly a man, and more shadow than fae.
Lev Morois had had his eyes on Phaedra for a while now. And he didn’t like to be denied anything, especially women. Normally he traveled to the Lordship for his fill, and he would have been better off going there last night. Instead he’d forced his way into Phaedra’s home… and Shadow had made sure he’d never be able to hurt a woman like that ever again.
“How old are your boys now, Jadhan?” His voice was deep and smoky.
The trio neared closer, as if they knew they’d been summoned. The eldest, Mikhail, nearly crashed into the countertop, forgetting he had to bend down now. A tendril of black shadow shot out, muffling the blow and corralling him back out onto the open dancefloor with the rest of the children.
Jadhan sighed and rubbed at a burned spot on the counter, “Too old, and growing faster than weeds.”
It was a sweet pain for Azriel to see the three brothers romping around. It was almost winter and soon enough they’d be wrestling in the frosted fields, shoving snow down each other’s shirts, and hurling it at each other's heads.
When was the last time he’d seen his brothers? Cassian had stopped by twenty-five years ago, shocked and scared to see Azriel looking so wretched. The next time Azriel’s shadows had warned him, and they’d sent Cassian away.
Rhysand was a different story… he’d never forgiven Azriel for what he’d done - and rightfully so - but that didn’t make the pain any easier to swallow. That didn’t make Azriel miss them any less.
He tossed the rest back and, to Jadhan’s surprise, he let the barkeep refill it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Phaedra’s voice crooned over the crowd, settling over drunk men and women like a warm blanket until it was time for their sober partners to drag them home. Those who were alone either settled into the hard booths for a nap or resigned themselves to a stumble home in the dark. They’d all make it to their beds in the end - The Shadowsinger would see to that.
He dropped a gold coin onto the counter - triple what the night’s libations actually cost. It was the briefest of stumbles that had Jadhan gripping onto the male’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat.
Azriel wasn’t drunk. It would take an ocean of human liquor to get a fae drunk and then some. But he was starting to feel something.
“I got a pinch of ambrose from a merchant passing through.” Shadow’s eyes snapped up to Jadhan, who only raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, hey, hey, I know you don’t drink my whiskey for the taste, so I thought I'd put something in there to remind you of home. Something to loosen you up like liquor is supposed to.”
The Shadowsinger winced at that word: Home.
“Very well.” He said.
The boys had gone home with Sasha hours ago, and without them running about with their usual compatriots, the tavern seemed dull. Now was no longer the time for dancing and riotous laughter. Now was the time for the sad drunks and those who didn’t want to go home.
But Azriel wasn’t drunk and he desperately wanted to go home.
It was the shame that kept him rooted to the stool like a stubborn weed… that and Rhysand’s promise that if he ever laid eyes on Azriel again, he’d rip the wings off his back.
Jadhan seemed to understand that about him, leaning over the counter on sturdy arms thick as tree trunks. His leg was still lame, always had been and always would be, but that had never held him back much.
“What’re you doing here, Shadow?”
His hazel eyes flickered up.
“What’s it been? Twenty-five years you’ve been in town now?”
“Thirty. Exactly.”
So that was why the Shadowsinger had drank so much that night. It was to commemorate the sad, terrible anniversary of his banishment to the Midlands.
“Don't you think that's long enough? I don’t mean any offense, but don't you have anywhere else to go? Friends? Family?”
The male gritted his teeth and Jadhan had the sinking feeling he'd just poked the bear.
“I thought I was wanted here.”
“Of course you are. Hell, we’d all be dead or piss poor if it weren’t for you.” Jadhan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re running from - if you’re a thief, a murderer, a treasonous bastard or all of the above-”
Shadow flinched, actually flinched, and Jadhan knew it was all of the above.
“But whatever it is,” He continued, “I think you’ve made up for it.”
Azriel stilled, shadows continuing to swirl around the wet, empty glass in front of him.
How he wished those words were true, but only a human would think thirty years was a long time. They were nothing if not optimistic.
“No. I haven’t.” Shadow said flatly. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Jadhan finally sighed and went to clear the glass.
“I had a mate.” He whispered the words so quietly, Jadhan almost didn’t hear him.
His thick eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline. He didn’t know much about fae customs and the ones he did know about were often violent, strange, or both… usually both. But he had a great deal of respect for mating bonds and understood they were prized above all else to fae.
“Had?”
Shadow’s lips flattened into a thin line and Jadhan could have sworn his eyes began to brim with years.
The Shadowsinger nodded stiffly.
“Dead?”
Shadow gritted his teeth and nodded once more, wings drooping low enough to brush against the sawdust packed floor.
Jadhan sighed so deeply he seemed to shrink into himself, and Azriel was once again struck by how quickly humans aged.
Silver streaks were already beginning to color his temples and his leg was getting stiffer and stiffer each day. It wouldn't be long until he was forced to swallow his pride and buy a cane like Sasha had been suggesting.
It seemed like just yesterday Jadhan had limped his way into the woods, calling out for the Shadowsinger with a copper coin clenched in his fist and a bargain to make.
Kill my father, and I will do anything you ask of me. Anything at all.
There had been such determination in the little boy’s body that Azriel hadn’t hesitated to fold his small fingers back over the coin and then do what he had been told… to do what he’d always been told to do.
“I’m sorry, Shadow.” He shook his graying hair, “I’m so sorry.”
Azriel grimaced, fists tightening until they turned pale, “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.”
He frowned, “And why not?”
The Shadowsinger stilled and got quiet again, “Because it was my fault. I killed her.”
Jadhan, for all his mortal naivete, didn’t look surprised at his answer. He only twisted his mouth to the side in thought before asking once again, "Why are you here, Shadow? Why don't you leave?"
Azriel looked at him, hazel eyes filled with despair.
He would never tell Jadhan this, but he’d always been envious of humans for one thing - they could die of old age. They could be killed easily. So easily that all it would take was one flick of Azriel's wrist and Jadhan would be no more.
Fae were not so easy to kill, and their only end was a violent one. Maybe that was why Rhys had banished him to the middle of the Continent where life was harsh but simple, and fae were nowhere to be found.
No one here was strong enough to kill him. Azriel would know - he’d spent the first five years on the Continent searching for a way to die and getting into so many bloodbaths it had lost its luster.
“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”
___
There were many reasons Azriel built his house in the woods. Firstly, he liked the privacy Secondly, when the nightmares came, there was no telling the damage he could do.
Tonight’s dreams were especially violent and cruel to him.
Elain appeared before him, sweet and delicate as a dove and despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but follow her into the darkness like a fly to a carnivorous flower. It wasn’t her fault - he should have known better than to drag them both into this mess. She’d been reckless, hungry for some semblance of control in this new and strange world, and he had been all too willing to play the role of the selfless knight.
When she kissed him it felt wrong, but like every other night, he was too powerless to push away. This was how it had happened, and there was no changing that.
She whispered against his lips, “Thank you for coming for me.”
Azriel’s stomach twisted, because two people had gone on the mission into Beron’s lair, and two people had come out. Azriel had wrapped his arms around Elain’s silky body after saving her, and left you behind.
He followed Elain further, chasing her shimmering pink skirts onto the Autumn Court battlefield where she dove into the grasses and disappeared.
This was where it truly went wrong.
He caught sight of you on the hill, blood blooming like roses from where the ash arrows pierced your flesh. Your wings were gone and you leaned too far backward, still feeling their phantom weight against your back. That was what it had taken to bring you down. That was what it had taken for Beron to break you.
It was like a bolt of lightning running through his body when the bond snapped into place. Your bruised eyes shot open and you fought against the chains, horror freezing your heart.
Azriel would know, because he felt it all.
“AZ! NO!”
Beron’s ax caught the light as it came down on your neck and this wonderful thing he’d dreamt about for over five hundred years was snatched away from him.
Azriel shot up in bed, skin slick and suffocating under the blankets. He kicked them off his body, taking big, desperate gulps of air as his stomach and shadows settled down.
He rubbed his chest, feeling that hollow space where the bond used to be.
He’d had you for less than a minute… he should have had an eternity with you. You should have had an eternity with all of them.
On the day you died, Rhys and Cassian had also lost a sister. Feyre and Nesta had lost a best friend. Cassian may have been quick to forgive him, but Rhys could never. He’d already lost one sister. Nothing could have prepared him to lose you too.
Shadows swarmed around him and he already knew his powers had wrecked the roof once again. Moonlight streamed through the newly made hole in the ceiling, pooling around his shaking form. He imagined it was the Mother staring down at him with her unblinking eye. Disappointed. Angry.
The mating bond had been utterly wasted on him.
“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/n.” He gasped out, trembling. He wrapped his wings around his shaking shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from what he’d done.
Once again he was that little boy trapped in the cellar. Abandoned. Unloved. Alone. But this time he deserved it.
“Please. Please.” He begged. He begged for the madness to take him. He begged for an end to his eternal life.
“I want to come home.” He sobbed. “Please. I want to come home.”
You stood before him at the foot of the bed - a vision that had arrived three days after coming to the Midlands and never left. You looked at him sadly, your white dress hanging still despite the breeze that flowed through the room. But you didn’t say a word. You didn’t say anything at all.
___
Jadhan was fifty-five now. The Shadowsinger still came to the tavern every night, drank his whiskey on the house, and left once the songs were over.
Mikhail had left at eighteen, chasing after opportunities on the edge of the Continent. Zhik had died the year before - the youngest and the weakest of the trio. Not even the Shadowsinger could fight the cold that came for him in the Winter and stole him away before Spring.
Now it was Alzhar and Jadhan that ran the tavern. Alzhar who poured the Shadowsinger his drinks.
“On the house.” He said, sliding the glass along the countertop. Whiskey. Two fingers. Just how the Shadowsinger liked it.
“Thanks, Alzhar.” He raised the glass in the air before tossing it back in one shot, grimacing. Either he was getting older, or the whiskey had gotten worse.
Snow flurried past the windows, more rain than anything else.
“Happy Solstice day.” The Shadowsinger said with the faintest of smiles.
“Happy Solstice day.”
It was no grand holiday in the Midlands, and it certainly could never hold a candle to the festivities that were going on in Velaris, but still, Azriel would take whatever comfort he could get.
Phaedra had quietly retired from singing, opting to strum along with her guitar in the background. But her daughter led the band now, a vibrant star in the midst of these quiet lands with a smoky voice that was only rivaled by her mother.
“Happy Solstice day, everyone!” The tavern-goers cheered and a new generation of children shrieked from their spots closest to the stage. “Now I know it’s not looking too great outside, but we all know what dear old, Phaedra says.”
“Are you calling me old, Miss Devra?” Phaedra hollered, red painted lips turned down in a frown.
“I’m calling you a dear, Mama. You’re still as young as a rosebud in April.”
“That’s right!” Alzhar whooped. Phaedra winked and blew her future son-in-law a kiss.
Devra’s smile was positively radiant, “Alright, alright well whatever. She says daisies look brightest when they’re down in the shits, but that’s not really the most appetizing turn of phrase now is it?”
Everyone erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheer.
“Come on now, Dev.” Alzhar called out, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Sing!”
She rolled her eyes playfully, “Well since you asked so kindly,” She cleared her throat and began to croon,
“When my mama first warned me you’ve got trouble on your tail, I told her foxes are quick runners and my heart ain’t just for sale. I won’t be wooed by sweet flowers or sugar tea on ice, I just want someone who’ll love me and who’ll never think twice. I’ve-”
The tavern door burst open, letting in a howling blast of night-chilled air tinged with rain and frost. Everyone cringed back except Shadow, clutching at their thick coats and gasping at the sight of the being that came in from the darkness.
The female was anything but cold with her shining, warm eyes and radiant skin. She glowed like she'd been brushed with an otherworldly glimmer. She was sunlight shooting through crystal.
Dev stopped singing immediately, her hands slipping from the worn out strings with a strangled thrum.
The Shadowsinger stumbled, actually stumbled, to his feet, and the world seemed to fall silent.
Shadows shot out towards her, curling around her legs and licking the hem of her midnight blue coat. She was the moonlit darkness given form, delicate and fierce at the same time.
“Azriel.” She breathed out, finally giving a name to the nameless fae. “Azriel.” She repeated, still in disbelief.
The Shadowsinger - Azriel - walked forward without a sound, his scarred hands shaking at his sides.
She looked ready to throw her arms around him. Whether it was to embrace him or strangle him was yet to be seen.
Before she could make a move or say anything further, he dropped to his knees, head bowed and trembling. He swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between her feet like he was scared to even look at her straight on.
If he had been looking at her, he would have seen the horrified shock that parted her lips and widened her eyes.
He pulled out that sleek obsidian blade he carried with him everywhere. The knife seemed to hum, the silent sound reverberating through the room and causing the air above it to warp.
Everyone knew that that knife was as much a part of him as his wings. But he held it out to her now like an offering, wings stretching open so that everyone could see the orange glow of the fire through the thin membrane, and the tendons that flowed through them like rivers.
Alzhar looked to his father in confusion. Was this some fae custom he wasn't aware of? Should they all be bowing to her? Perhaps she was their queen.
But his father only let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking down.
The Shadowsinger was the picture of reverent misery, and he would let her take whatever she wanted for her revenge.
His wings.
His life.
Anything...
Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.
That was what the Shadowsinger had revealed to him years ago, and Jadhan had never forgotten it.
Because I’m waiting to die.
Her beautiful face crumpled, then turned resolute. She ignored the blade, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up to his feet. Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise.
“You bastard. You absolute bastard.” She said, her silky voice shaking, “I’ve been looking for you for years.”
“Y/n,” Azriel whispered reverently, “I-”
She slammed her lips against his, swallowing whatever desperate apology had been about to escape his mouth.
The Shadowsinger froze, then slowly melted into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist so tightly it was a miracle her ribs didn’t snap. Shadows swirled around the pair in a perfect mixture of light and dark - like moonlight bleeding through winter clouds.
No one in the tavern could stand to look away. They were absolutely transfixed. Some great power was moving in the world and they could feel it. Magic or not, it demanded to be felt.
When the two fae finally pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, something in the earth seemed to crack open and shake the ground, releasing pressure that had been building for hundreds and hundreds of years.
Tears slipped out of her eyes, salty and not entirely unwelcome.
“Oh, Az.” She whispered, cradling his face with one hand and clutching her chest with the other. The Shadowsinger was weeping now, curling into her like a vine seeking sunlight, “How could I have forgotten this?”
He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of elderflower and mountain pine like a man starved. His shadows grew around him, thick and powerful. And before anyone could even let out a strangled gasp, they disappeared with a whisper of smoke and shadow.
You reappeared in darkness, holding Azriel’s shaking body against you like an anchor to a ship.
“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You gently shushed him, tangling your fingers through his hair.
You scanned the room finding nothing but a rickety bed and a dresser in the corner by way of furniture, and a small pile of firewood against the wall.
Moonlight streamed in through the roof and you held out a hand, latching onto the rays and weaving them together so tightly they filled the room with a silver glow.
“Az.” You whispered, all your attention turned back on him, on your mate. "Az." You gently shook him, pressing fervent kisses to his temple until he finally lifted his eyes.
Azriel looked exhausted, purple bruises shading the hollows beneath his gorgeous eyes.
“How-” Azriel gasped, “How is this-”
“Bryaxis brought my body to the Cauldron.” You finished, equally out of breath, “It took him years to put me back together but… he did it. He did it, Az.”
Azriel closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. This time you let him fall. And you fell with him, climbing into his lap so he could bury his face in your wind-swept hair.
Home.
You smelled like home to him.
“Promise me." He begged, "Promise me you’re real, Y/n. Please, promise me. I’ll-I'll do anything." He could feel you on the other end of the bond, your heart pulsing and alive. But… he didn’t know if he'd be able to survive if he woke in the morning to find that this was all some terribly perfect dream.
“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You replied thickly, “I’m here and I’m whole.” You tugged off your coat, throwing it somewhere behind you, and pulled down the neck of your sweater. A thick line of scar tissue wrapped around your throat, one of the many physical reminders of the horrors Beron had put you through.
Azriel stilled, one hand daring to trace the pale flesh with a feather-light touch. “I… I did this.”
“No...No.” You whispered, brushing away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks, “You didn’t do this, Az.”
“I left you behind.” His voice broke. “I took Elain and I left you behind. Y/n, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”
You flinched and closed your eyes. It was one of your worst memories to date - the sight of Azriel’s broken face as the first ash arrow caught you in the back and brought you to the ground. The second was what had done you in, piercing through the membrane of your wings and digging into the ground, pinning you there.
Azriel had only gripped Elain’s golden form closer to his body. He could only fly one of you out, and in that moment he had made his choice and leapt into the sky.
Azriel felt your emotion through the bond and desperation flooded his system once again.
He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not like this. Not when he had so much to make up for.
“I know what I did, Y/n. I know it was unforgivable, but I swear to you I will do anything you ask. Whatever it takes. If you’ll just give me a chance, I- ”
“Shhhhhhh.” You shook your head, pressing your finger to his lips and silencing him. “I forgive you, Az.” You said, cupping his face.
He immediately leaned into your touch, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his.
“I don’t-I don't want to think about that anymore. Trust me, I’ve spent the last half a century agonizing over it.” You said, smiling without humor.
His hands rubbed up and down your back, tracing the ruined remnants of your wings and silently begging you to explain.
You hesitated, collecting your words and speaking them carefully, “I would have come sooner but… I was so scared and confused about everything. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore without my wings with-'' Your hand flew up to your throat on instinct.
Azriel gently pulled your fingers away, kissing the pads of your fingertips all the way to your palm, and then your wrist. His lips brushed against the pulsing vein as soft as a feather. It was such a small point of contact, but it grounded you to reality.
“I couldn’t remember anything. It was like… like I was starting from scratch. Building my life from the ground up.”
Azriel repeated the gesture with your other hand, soft lips skimming over your skin until you shivered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He whispered softly, “I should have been there.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have known.”
You looked at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him and refamiliarizing yourself with his face. He did the same with you.
He looked tired and thinner than you remembered, the elegant planes of his face now harsh and sharp. But buried beneath all those years of loneliness, he was still there - your Azriel. The male who never did anything in half-measures. The male who couldn’t help but make some of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever seen in your life, and also some of the most careful.
Gods, you’d missed him.
You'd missed talking to him and laughing with him. You'd missed the simple joy of being in his presence and the way that the world seemed to fall with hush whenever he entered a room.
“I came for you as soon as I remembered.” You brushed a strand of inky black hair from his forehead, and then flicked him. Hard. “But you just had to go and disappear on the Continent without a trace.”
That wasn’t completely true. He’d left bloody, brutal footprints for a while, but those had dried up too quickly.
The smile Azriel gave was weak and dull, but it was a start, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Y/n.”
“That’s alright." You murmured against his lips before kissing him, "You can make it up to me.”
Azriel’s heart leapt in his chest, and the bond responded in kind, singing louder than a choir of a thousand songbirds. Even after all this time, even after everything, the Shadowsinger hoped.
“Y/n-” That light began to dim, hateful voices whispering in his ear that he was unworthy of you, that he would destroy this chance at happiness just as swiftly as he’d done the first time, that he would ruin it all, “I don’t deserve-”
“Stop it, Az.” Your words were soft but commanding, “I don’t care about what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. I want you. I want my best friend back. I want you back.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I want you back in Velaris, and if it turns out I’m still pissed at you for everything, we’ll figure it out, ok?”
You took a shaky breath and Azriel looked up at you in awe. He gathered you in his arms and captured your lips in a softer, more gentle kiss. A kiss that said, I’m tired. I’m so so tired and for the first time in my life I’m going to force the voices that tell me terrible things to be silent.
And it worked for a spell, but Azriel was pulling away again, looking guilty.
“Rhys-”
“I’ve already handled Rhys.”
His brow arched up every so slightly. Your guilty eyes flitted to the side.
You loved Rhys like a brother, and you fought with him like siblings do. That was why the last thing you'd done before leaving Velaris was force him to lift the banishment... and then you'd punched him in the face.
“I wasn’t exactly happy with him when I found out he banished you to the Continent. And to the Midlands too. I’ve heard it’s terribly boring here.”
Azriel smiled, and this time it was a genuine one full of love and relief, “Everywhere is terribly boring without you. And terribly painful.”
“That’s a very good answer.” You replied, feeling that a great weight had been lifted off your chest.
He held you in a gentle caress, tracing your brow bone and the curve of your lips and committing the feeling of you to memory.
This was real. This was real. This was real.
You both folded in on each other like paper houses laid to rest, until you were tangled up on the floor. There was a perfectly functional bed not even four feet away, but even that seemed like too much effort after everything that had happened.
Azriel wrapped his wings protectively around you, settling down with his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. You hummed in tired contentment, peppering his forehead with kisses as your eyelids began to droop.
“I want to go home, Azriel,” You murmured, “I want to go home with you.”
Home.
Azriel swallowed thickly, “We’ll leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. I promise.”
You opened a bleary eye, examining your mate quietly, “Do you not want to say goodbye?”
Azriel kissed your chest, right over your heart. Thirty years ago he would have said yes. He would have taken time to get his affairs in order and to make sure Jadhan and his sons, Phaedra and Devra, and the rest were taken care of. But things had changed, and he knew that no matter what, they would be alright. They would live and travel and fall in love. If they were lucky, they’d experience the joy of dying in their sleep surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long and eventful road.
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
You pressed one final kiss to his forehead, absorbing him in the warmth of your arms. Azriel sighed, hanging onto the golden thread in his chest that wrapped around his soul and bound him to you.
“They’ll be ok, my love.” You murmured.
And so will we. You whispered the promise down the bond, soft and gentle.
He closed his eyes, pressing the words I love you into your skin.
“I know.” He whispered to the night sky once your breathing had evened out, “I know.”
That night at the tavern felt like a dream - the kind that left you groggy and awestruck when you initially awoke, and then slipped away like water cupped in a child’s hands.
Everything seemed louder than before, even though the townspeople walked about in a contemplative daze. It was the forest. That’s what it was. It hummed more brightly. The blanket of power that had rested over the treetops for decades had lifted overnight.
No one spoke of the events aloud - they were too aware of the enormity of what they’d witnessed - but they all knew the truth.
The Shadowsinger had finally been called home.
___
“Quick!” Alzhar’s eldest son, Samu, called out to the twins. They hobbled over as quickly as their stout legs could carry them.
“Samu,” Niran whined, “I’m tired.”
“Papa said to be back by dark.” Rhaan reminded them all. The only trademark that separated him from his twin brother was the flash of blond through his ruddy brown hair. White-tailed deer they called him.
“I want dinner.”
“Me too.”
Samu looked over the hills where the sun was sliding down the sky like rain on a window.
“But we haven’t found the house yet!” He protested.
“We’ve been searching for days.”
“Yeah, we’ve been searching for days.” Niran parroted.
“Of course we have!” He threw his hands up in the air, “Did you really think the Shadowhouse would be easy to find?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head, “Go back if you’re so scared. I’ll look for it myself.”
Niran and Rhaan looked at each other, identical frowns pulling at their lips. They wanted to prove their worth, but they were still younger than Samu, and their hunger mattered more.
“We’re telling Mama you didn’t listen.”
“I want your dessert.”
“Wait, no. I want it. Can we share?”
“I’m not sharing!”
Samu smiled triumphantly and stomped further into the woods, leaving the twins to their usual bickering.
The little boy sprinted back home hours later, a gleeful kick in his step. The sky was already turned pitch black, but the Mother had sprinkled out the stars like salt to guide him home.
Devra stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, swollen belly blocking out the roaring firelight like an eclipse.
“Where have you been?” She gasped out, grabbing Samu’s head and holding him close to her stomach. Samu loved when she did this, convinced that his newest sibling would talk to him first.
Niran and Rhaan wanted another brother to tussle with, but Samu was hoping for a sister. She could tussle with them too, he was sure.
He ignored her question, grabbing her hand and hauling her back inside, “Papa! BaBa! I found it! I found the Shadowhouse.”
Niran and Rhaan popped out from their bedroom, clambering after their older brother as he dragged their mother along.
Jadhan and Alzhar looked up with relief. Jadhan’s hair had turned white as snow in his old age and hints of gray were beginning to sprout from Alzhar’s temples.
“Papa!”
“Samu, what have we told you about staying out past-”
“The Shadowsinger left something for you and Baba.”
“What?!” Jadhan sat up straighter, grimacing at the painful twist of his leg. He motioned his grandson closer, helping him climb onto the bed.
The little boy dropped the blue-velvet bag into his outstretched hands, leaning back on his heels with rapt attention. Samu, being the boy that he was, hadn’t opened it on the whole journey over and was now buzzing to learn what secrets it held within.
Jadhan was immediately startled by the weight of the parcel.
“Open it!”
“Wait! I want to see!”
“Help me up!”
Alzhar and Devra relented, picking up the twins and leaning close. Their own curiosity was itching to be satisfied.
Jadhan opened the bag and tipped it over spilling dozens of gold coins onto the quilt. Devra gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Alzhar didn’t bother hiding his shock, his mouth agape.
It was more money than they’d ever seen in their lives, Jadhan didn’t concern himself with it - he hadn’t had to worry about money in a long while. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper that had also fallen out, carefully unfolding it with trembling, wrinkled fingers.
For all the drinks “on the house” and for your son, Mikhail, who traveled to the edges of the Continent and made it possible for my mate to find me and bring me home.
Scrawled on the lower edge of the paper were more words, cramped and small like they’d been jotted down as an after-thought.
Also, your whiskey is absolutely disgusting. Never let anyone else drink it.
Everyone stilled, watching Jadhan carefully.
Without warning, the old man tipped his head back and roared with laughter.
Samu leaned back in surprise. His grandfather was a naturally solemn man, and he'd never heard him laugh so loudly and so fiercely.
Alzhar reached for the slip of paper, skimming the words quickly.
"No!" He cried out in disbelief, "Stop! This can't be. Devra, look-"
One by one the adults fell into fits of roaring laughter, collapsing onto Jadhan's bed or onto the floor. Even the boys cheered - confused but happy to be part of whatever story had just finished unfolding.
Jadhan was seventy-one years old when he died, and he died laughing, surrounded by his family at the end of a long road.
Down the street in the tavern, the band was still playing the same old songs, although they were being performed by yet another generation of songbirds. But, there was one new addition to the repertoire.
A song penned by Phaedra and aptly named The Ballad of the Shadowsinger years before her quiet passing.
It was always the last song of the night. Always. And it ended like this:
Come Solstice day
Come wind or rain
Now calls the heather
The Midlands will have no reason to dismay
For the Shadowsinger has been called home again
___________
Another author's note:
I feel like I threw in so many new human characters so I made a family tree. Ha!
Also, please enjoy the small essay I wrote last night after writing this oneshot...
From last night:
Listen, some red flags are just pale orange scraps of fabric when you’re an immortal non-human being who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Don’t come for me. I’m so tired. It’s 3am. I should sleep.
Ok, note from Florence B at 3:16am because I am making CONNECTIONS. Not all of this was intentional, but maybe it was? Maybe I’m just stringing connections after the fact. Maybe I’m a genius. Probably not, but still. I’m so tired, guys. Why am I doing this right now? I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep so I’m going to do this instead.
Buckle down folks for the essay I am about to write:
I have my qualms about the ACOTAR books, as I’m sure most people do. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful reads and it’s the series that got me back into reading after college, but they’re not perfect by any means.
One thing I think that gets brushed under the rug (especially given how ALL the batboys fall for girls who are literally in their late teens/mid-twenties - it’s a major red flag but we forgive because it’s fiction) is how DIFFERENTLY fae experience time. LIke, these fuckers live hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of years. The only way they die is if they get killed, like purposely poisoned or stabbed or whatever have you. I tried to write this/touch upon this when Azriel describes how he’s jealous of Jadhan for his humanity and how no matter what, Azriel is stuck potentially living an ETERNITY with the reality of what he’s done. It’s why for me - personally - all the stuff about the mate bond driving males mad or the choice that Rhysand and Feyre make to bind their lives to one another kind of makes sense. Like, if I was faced with an eternal life sentence in a world that was as brutal and cruel as the ACOTAR universe is, HECK YEAH I MIGHT BIND MY LIFE TO SOMETHING/SOMEONE I CARED ABOUT! I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ALONE! You’ve gotta retire from the game at SOME point.
I know I probably made things really confusing by introducing a whole host of human characters spanning several generations (re: the family tree up above), but as I previously mentioned, I thought it was important to do this to contextualize/compare the lifespan of a fae to a normal human. While Jadhan is growing up, getting a job, getting married, having kids, Azriel is still struggling with his banishment to the Midlands and his own sense of self-worth. The line about Jadhan approaching Azriel and offering him money to kill his abusive father who broke his leg was thrown in there later on around the 1am mark. And I didn’t think of it much - I just wanted a reason for Azriel to know Jadhan personally throughout his life from childhood to old age. BUT! Now that I think I’m thinking about it more, it makes sense that Azriel would be able to accept Y/n’s forgiveness so quickly. He sees a lot of himself in young Jadhan and by helping him escape his abusive father(albeit by violent means) and watching him grow up into a strong man and a good father, Azriel’s helping heal his own inner child.
The kids! Oh my goodness I love the kids so much. Once I threw the first kid into the story I thought - fuck it, we’re going to make the parallelism painfully obvious with Azriel seeing himself, Rhys, and Cassian mirrored in Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik. Then of course I had to bring things around full circle and give Alzhar three boys and a girl on the way (yes, Devra is pregnant with a girl and Samu is going to shower her with all the love that Rhys gave his own sister).
Finally, I’m going to address any comments about Y/n forgiving Azriel too quickly. 1) I feel like it is a universally acknowledged/unacknowledged truth that no one hates Azriel as much as he hates himself. And no punishment could ever be worse than the self-loathing he feels for himself (NOTE: people, if a partner/romantic love interest/friend/crush/whatever EVER says this kind of stuff to you, drop them like a two-ton boulder. That’s a major red flag, but once again this is a fictional man/fae so we can let it slide). 2) Once again, these fae are literally HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD. I can only speak for myself when I say this, but I feel like if I had known and loved someone for that long, I would be willing to forgive a lot and trust that time might be able to heal deeper wounds than humans are used to. Time is precious to us humans, we can’t always afford to wait and hope for things to get better on their own, but fae can.
Are those all my thoughts? I think those are all my thoughts. It’s 3:47am now. Oh jeez. To future me: I’m so sorry if you have to read this and it’s bad and you have a coffee-fueled headache all day because I fucked things up for us.
#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#azriel x mate reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel angst#azriel x reader angst#ANNNNGGGSSSTTTT#angst#angst with a happy ending
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